Indian Fights and Fighters: The Soldier and the Sioux

by Cyrus Townsend Brady

It was indeed a laughable sight to see the soldiers trying to ride mules that were not broken to ride—and the soldiers knew about as much about riding as the mules did. We followed the Indians to the Pumpkin Buttes and I am free to say for myself that I was very glad that we did not find them. Had we got in touch with them we would have had the smallest kind of a show to save our hair. The soldiers being mounted on green mules, and being armed with the old Springfield musket, and that strapped on their backs, a very few Indians could have stampeded the mules and, in fact, the soldiers as well.

We, the citizens, had made arrangements that if the Indians attacked us we would stick together and fight it out the best that we could. Jim Bridger, our guide, was with this party. He was an old timer in the mountains. I had two years experience in the mountains and plains prior to this time; the rest of the citizens were good men. We returned to the fort safely but did not recover any of the stock.

A day or two later we left the fort. The first day’s march was a very hard one, thirty-six miles to Crazy Woman’s Fork. This creek was a very fine one, clear, cool, and very rapid. The command was badly demoralized by this long, hot, and dry march, no water between that point and Fort Reno. The soldiers had been paid off a day or two before, many had been drunk, many more thoughtless, and did not provide for water in spite of orders. I saw five dollars paid for a canteen of water on this march. On our arrival at Crazy Woman’s Fort, the commanding officer detailed a guard to keep the soldiers from jumping into the creek and drinking too much water.

We laid over here two days, to repair wagons and bring in the stragglers. Had the Indians been on hand, they could have cleaned up many of the soldiers at this time. From this creek west to the Big Horn the country is very fine; plenty of wood, water, and grass; in fact, a paradise. We traveled west to the forks of the Pineys. The big and little Pineys fork near where we made our camp, sixty-five miles west of the Powder River.

On the twenty-fourth day of July we moved to the place where we established Fort Phil Kearney. The grasshoppers were so thick in the air that day that they nearly obscured the sun from sight.[^[25]] In fact, it did not look bigger than a silver dollar. The fort was built about as you have described it, and from the day that we established it until I left there, in November, ’67, the Indians were very much in evidence and plenty of fighting nearly all that time.

I was a teamster on this expedition, driving an ambulance team. Made several trips to Fort Laramie and to Fort C. F. Smith on the Big Horn. This latter Fort was established by Carrington a short time after the establishment of Fort Phil Kearney, and was a two-company post.

I was with the hay-making party down the Big Piney during a part of the summer of ’66. During one of our trips to the hay field, we were accompanied by a man who represented Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Weekly as an artist. This man rode with me a part of the way. He intended to do some sketching near there but I advised him to stay with our outfit. However, he insisted on stopping by the way. On our return we found him dead, a cross cut on his breast, which indicated that they thought him a coward who would not fight. He wore long, black hair and his head had been completely skinned. Probably it was the work of a band of young Cheyenne bucks; they could cut the scalps into many pieces and thereby make a big show in camp. Was very sorry for this man; he appeared to be a perfect gentleman. His thought was, that if the Indians found him they would not hurt him, as he intended to show them his drawings, and also explain to them that he was not armed.

Later on the Indians got so thick that we had to abandon this hay-making business. The day that we broke camp we had a great deal of fighting with the Indians. I remember a soldier named Pate Smith who borrowed a revolver from me that day. This man was mounted. He rode too far ahead of the outfit, the Indians cut him off. Later we heard from the Crows that the Sioux caught him, skinned him alive. This man was an old volunteer soldier, but what show has a man with the old-fashioned Springfield musket? One shot and you are done.

I was at the Fort at the time of the Phil Kearney massacre and went down with the reinforcements to that sad scene. Our men were all down when we got there, and cut up in the most brutal manner, such as only a red brute would do. We buried them a little east of the fort. They fought a good fight, but were surprised and overpowered. As we approached the scene of action the country was black with Indians to the west.